


Freedoms Call: TURN Washington's Spies

by EttaWohlPierce



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EttaWohlPierce/pseuds/EttaWohlPierce
Summary: "Better to die fighting for freedom then be a prisoner all the days of your life"|Ben Tallmadge/OC|





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Extended Family

Philadelphia, 1777

Genevieve Bell stood in front of her childhood and stared, ignoring the soft rain that dampened her cloak. She attempted to feel the happiness she had once felt here, but to no avail. The place where she was born and raised was now nothing but a burnt crumbling frame of a house- this image damaged the only remaining pleasant memories of her home. No matter how hard she wished with her mind and prayers, her father was not returning and neither was the innocence of a happy life.

Letting out a gentle sigh, Genevieve turned away. The stones under her feet crunched and filled the silence. She had experienced too much death in her life to cry about it now; Mother in childbirth, her sister to sickness, her brother to the war, and now Father. The only remaining person in Genevieve's life that she loved, was taken away in a meaningless accident.

Why was God so keen in ensuring her suffering?

Without turning one last time to look at her home or her families graves, she climbed onto the wooden cart.

"Are you ready, Miss Genevieve?" asked Thomas, a former slave to her father. Father had given Thomas his freedom before his death but Thomas refused to leave till Genevieve reached her destination- something that she was grateful for.

"Yes," Genevieve replied, without turning to check if she had all of her trunks. It didn't matter to her if a few books or pretty dresses were left behind, in truth she didn't care anymore. A cool fall breeze swept through, causing Genevieve's shoulders to tense. Thomas jerked the reins of the horse and the cart started down the drive, heading to Oyster Bay. Thomas glanced towards his mistress and frowned. Her blue eyes lacked the spark that they once had and were now glazed over, as if she was in another world. Thomas made sure to put a few of her favorite reading materials in the front, but his mistresses hadn't even glanced down to see them.

Paine's Common Sense might've livened up men to the great American cause, but not Thomas's mistress- Genevieve was as cold and empty as a great winter storm.

Hours passed as Genevieve and Thomas made the journey. They advanced past many townsfolk and British soldiers on their way to New York, stopping briefing to pick up any mail that was sent to Genevieve and her father. The cart jolted to a start again as Genevieve went through the post. Thomas eyed the letters from his seat.

Genevieve set aside the letters and gathered to ones addressed to her father in her lap.

"What should I do with them, Thomas?" She asked.

"Well, you could-a read em'?" Thomas answered, but his tone was one of confusion.

Genevieve ignored his advice and preceded to throw them out of the cart, leaving the letters to be trampled and soaked by the mud.

Thomas said nothing but tightened his grip on the reigns.

Genevieve moved on to her own post and opened the first letter.

Miss Bell,

It was to our utmost dismay to hear of your fathers passing-

Without reading the rest of the letter Genevieve folded it and put it away in her cloak. She understood that it was only polite for her friends and acquaintances to send their sympathy, but she could not tolerate it anymore. Reading such depressing things only made her heart ache greater. It seemed this heart ache was to be her new constant companion. Thomas noticed his mistresses eyes dampening.

"Is there one from your frien' , Missus Shippen?" Thomas asked. It was a silly question because he could clearly see a letter from the said woman. Margaret Shippen, better known as Peggy, was one of Genevieve oldest friends. The women attended balls together, dined together and shared many whispers together; if Genevieve Bell was insight you could be sure that Peggy Shippen was near by as well.

Genevieve tore the wax seal that held the letter closed and read eagerly.

Thomas smiled at his mistresses excitement- perhaps there was hope after all.

My Dearest Evie,

I write to you with a solemn, yet hopeful heart. My deepest sympathies for your loss, however I am sure you do not want to hear this and therefore I will cease in my pity and move onto different matters.

Genevieve paused from her reading and smiled, Peggy knew her too well. Her best friend understood that Genevieve was one to grieve privately and not bond over it to others. She wasn't a girl known for needing a shoulder to cry on.

I recently met a man, perhaps you may know him, by the name of General Benedict Arnold. He is a man of exceptional character and I hope that one day I may introduce you. I am sure that you are confused, as am I. I never thought I would be courting a Rebel General, as you may have guessed. Father is not pleased with our relationship. Unlike your family, ours is one of loyalist tendencies- I do not mean that harshly- and it was not a surprise to myself when I learned of Fathers thoughts. But enough of me. I eagerly await your letter describing New York and wish you the best. Visit soon.

Your loyal servant,

Peggy Shippen

She smiled and held the letter to her chest, she couldn't wait to see Peggy again. Sighing, Genevieve reached down to sort through the pile of books near her foot and mummered a thank you to Thomas. It was going to be a long ride.  
\--------

It was a sea of red.

Everywhere she looked, Genevieve saw red- red flags, red signs but most of all red coats. Oyster Bay was full of British soldiers, she couldn't move one foot without bumping into one.

It made her skin crawl.

She didn't not approve of the British, but in truth Genevieve wasn't sure how she felt about them. They certainly made choices that Genevieve didn't agree with but so did the rebels. Though the city was full of British officers, feces and intoxicated men, she could still beauty in it. She was grateful that Thomas had abandoned the cart before entering the city, not only would it have made it hard for them to navigate the streets but from where Genevieve was standing- on the ground- she could appreciate the city in all its beauty. Buildings were made of dark russet brick, tall and lean. Signs hung above doors depicting all sorts of things- from the apothecary to a shoemaker. The streets were cobble and full of screaming children, vendors and animals. No matter how dark the corner, or dirty the ground people filled the space, socializing, eating and laughing. She turned around in a full circle, attempting to absorb the bustling life of New York.

Genevieve loved the life and excitement of the city.

Thomas gently tugged her arm and called "C'mon Missus Bell, I can see the shop from here."

Thomas was referring to Rivington's Corner, a building that housed the publishing space of The Royal Gazette as well as her cousins drink and coffeehouse. As Genevieve reached the shop, she stopped and turned to Thomas.

"You've delivered me here as my father requested, you should go before it reaches nightfall." Genevieve held her hands out for her bags, trying to hold in her tears. She would miss Thomas, but knew that he had to leave and find a better life.

"I have nothing to give you in my thanks," Instead of offering him her hand, she dropped her bags and wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. In this one hug, Genevieve attempted to convey all the gratitude and emotions she felt. She felt Thomas shift and awkwardly return her hug, Thomas was uncomfortable with displaying the behavior in the public.

Social propriety be damned she thought.

"Missus Bell-"

"Call me Genevieve from now on, please Thomas." She interrupted him and stepped back from the embrace.

Thomas smiled again and restarted his sentence. "Missus Genevieve, your family has been kind to me in these past years. You owe me nothing." He turned away, nodded his head in goodbye to her and disappeared into the crowd. Genevieve reached down to retrieve her bags from the ground and hoped that they mud hadn't soaked through.

She walked past a line of people by the entrance, up to the stoop of the coffeehouse and pushed the door open with her bags. It didn't seem like venue she would knock to enter into. As the wooden door opened a wave of heat rushed into her. The coffeehouse was large and extremely warm. The smell of tea, smoke, and ink greeted Genevieve's nose- overwhelming her senses. The room was mostly wood paneled and filled with tables. Men bustled around, some in red uniforms playing cards others in aprons supporting trays of alcoholic drinks. A man in the corner closet to her stood from his table, wobbling on his feet.

"Pretty,pretty girl."He called, clearly drunk. A British officer near by pulled the man back down to his chair.

Genevieve made sure to keep her face blank, hiding hiding her disgust inside, and moved away to the bar, ignoring the drunkard and the looks she received. She didn't put her bags down or take her cloak off.

"Excuse me, is Robert Townsend here?" She asked the barmaid.

The woman turned around from wiping a stack of cups and smiled. She was small, but her large mop of bright red hair made up for it.

"Ignore Henry- he's always been attracted to women with em' big tits,"

Genevieve coughed, and felt a flush of embarrassment coming over her. She knew her face was bright red, and her lifelong insecurity over her chest size wasn't helping. The barmaid after seeing Genevieves reaction to her impropriety didn't formally apologize but rather laughed.

"Sorry about that. I a' been so used to being myself around here I've forgotten myself and all propriety- no thanks to growing up with em' three big brothers. Mr. Townsend constantly threatens to throw me out of here because of it," The red head paused and leaned closer to Genevieve. "But between you and me, I think I scare him a wee bit." The woman's face lit up with a crooked smile and continued.

"Mr. Townsend said you'd be coming. He's out now but I can take you to your room, if you'd like? I'm Kenna by the way." The petite woman untied her apron, tossing it carelessly into the bar cage and took one of Genevieve's bags.

"Thank you," She said quietly to Kenna. Genevieve could see that under the sheen of sweat covering Kenna's face that she was quite pretty. Her cheeks were full and freckled and, managed to complement her thin lips. Kenna's eyes were a dark forest green, framed with red lashes and small crow feet. Genevieve could tell that the lines were not from stress or age but rather from laughter.

The women made small talk as they moved through the coffeehouse to the back stairs. Genevieve realized she quite liked Kenna. The girl was unlike any other woman that she had met. Rather than being quiet and sensible, Kenna was lighthearted, humorous and confident. She was like a breath of fresh air to Genevieve- who had been around stuffy, proper women all her life. Finally they reached the second floor.

"Mr. Townsend is currently housing a few officers," Kenna called over her shoulder to Genevieve as they walked through the hall. "guests usually stay in the numbered rooms."

Kenna continued talking but Genevieve barely processed anything that she had said. A tiredness swept through her, making her joints stiff and her head feel heavy. Finally Kenna stopped in front of a door and shuffled through a ring of keys.

Kenna selected a small bronze one and unlocked the door. Both women entered, Genevieve stopped in the doorway while Kenna moved to open the drapes. The room was small, but charming and decorated with the basic necessities. A large wardrobe took up the most space in a room, next to it was a small bed. Genevieve was happy to see a small writing desk in the corner, decorated with paper and quills- this would make her letter writing to Peggy much easier. Genevieve undid her cloak and sat down on her bed, wincing as a cloud of dust blew into the air from the quilt. Kenna laughed at seeing her face.

Kenna then moved to stand in front of Genevieve, her small hands on her hips and green eyes focused on Genevieve's dress.

Genevieve noticed and ran her hands down the bodice, worried that there was a stain.

"What a lovely gown, Miss Bell." Kenna moved closer and looked at the dresses details. In truth Genevieve's dress was much grander than anything Kenna had ever worn. The barmaid was used to second hand scratchy linen dresses. To a high lady of Philadelphia the dress might have been seen as more simple, but not to Kenna. The dress was a light blue which complemented the flower patterned stomacher and Genevieve's flaxen colored hair. Along the 3-quarter sleeves a small amount of white lace was visible.

"Do you like it?" Genevieve asked. Kenna nodded and eyed the dresses stitching but her persistent staring was starting to make Genevieve uncomfortable.

"I suppose I'm to start wearing more simple gowns," she continued. Genevieve started to mentally count her dresses, separating the ones that would be not appropriate for housework and the ones that were. She suddenly thought of Peggy and imagined her response to Genevieve's situation. She laughed out loud and could perfectly think of it.

'You're a Philadelphia woman, Evie. Stop moping around and do something about your situation.' Peggy would've said to her.

Thinking about such things made her heart ache. Kenna, as if she felt Genevieve's mood broke out of her trance, and moved to sit next to her.

"What's got you all down, missy? I've never seen such a sad pair of eyes before." Kenna crossed her arms over her chest, making her low cut dress more revealing.

Genevieve's lips curled up into a small pained smile.

"My father died this past month, and no matter how hard I am trying to look to the future- or even attempt at feeling happy about my predicament- I can't get out of this rut. I've experienced death my whole life," Genevieve paused and briefly explained to Kenna about the rest of her deceased family then continued. "I know I should be used to it by now, it's just that his death affected me much more than I thought it would. And I can't escape this feeling of emptiness, lack of everything and anything."

Kenna processed what Genevieve had said, her lips rubbing together in consideration. Shite she thought, this Miss Bell will need a bit more than a couple drinks and men to get over this spell.

Instead of offering condolences to Genevieve, Kenna reached over and squeezed her hand briefly.

"Perhaps you need a hobby? Or man to fill your time?" Kenna suggested, causing Genevieve to laugh. "But I doubt would agree with me on the man part,"

"I doubt he would either." Genevieve felt her chest lighten a bit at Kenna's crude sense of humor.

"I'd better be getting back to the bar, em' Loyalist won't be getting the drinks themselves." Kenna excited the room with a laugh, leaving Genevieve to her thoughts. Within moments she quickly fell asleep, plagued of nightmares and men in red.


	2. Secrets Uncovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason my italics are not working on this site. Sorry if there is some formatting confusion because of that.

COPYRIGHT 2017: TURN: Washington's Spies characters and plot line belong to the author and producers. OC characters and their plot lines belong to myself.

Chapter Two: Secrets Uncovered

"Shite, Miss Bell wake up! You've got rooms to clean- men to shag!" Kenna shouted at the sleeping lump under a pile of quilts. Genevieve lurched up, gasping- drool drying on the side of her cheek.

"Oh God," She mummered. Her hands moved to massage her temples in an attempt to remove the tiredness and dizziness that she now felt.

"What time is it?" She yawned and stood up from her bed. Genevieve looked down at herself and cringed as she realized she never changed into a sleeping gown. With a sudden rush, everything came back to her. Her fathers death, her current predicament and the fact she was now residing above a coffeehouse. Genevieve flinched when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess and half of her face was red from the pillow.

Kenna came up behind her and started undoing the woman's gown. "It's half passed nine and you're going to miss breakfast if we don't hurry. Mr. Townsend assured me that you would rise at an appropriate time. Obviously not." Genevieve muttered something not entirely lady-like under her breath to Kenna. It took them a few minutes to remove all of Genevieve's cloth accessories till she was down to her shift, corset and bum roll.

"How could've you slept in all of that nonsense?" Kenna gestured to the pile of clothing on the bed.

"It was a bad habit of mine as I child, I must've been so tired that I forgot to undress." She was too tired to be embarrassed. Genevieve moved away from Kenna to the pitcher and basin, drawn in by the thought of washing herself up. Kenna went to the woman's wardrobe and flung the wooden doors open loudly, paying no heed to their sleeping neighbors. Her red hair glowed in the morning sun.

Genevieve lifted her head from the basin, her face now wet but her eyes were awake and clearer than before. She went to the widow and basked in the morning light.

"Glad to see you're more yourself," Kenna called to her and closed the wardrobe doors, wielding a burgundy colored dress. Genevieve took the gown and dressed, surprised to see that the plain linen was quite flattering on her.

"There, Miss Bell, now you're fit to work." Kenna patted Genevieve cheeks heartily and tossed her an apron. After Genevieve had brushed and pinned her hair in a traditional up-do, Genevieve went down stairs eagerly to see her cousin. She was surprised to see that even this early in the morning, the venue was full of redcoats. Genevieve found her cousin and was shocked to see how much he had grown. The last time she had seen Robert he was a lanky boy with his nose shoved in a book. Robert preferred the company of literature and chess to discussion with a living being. Robert Townsend had always been quiet and reserved, following the Quaker Society seriously, but never one to seek conversation. A tall, middle aged man in what appeared to be a finely made robe talked animatedly to Robert- Genevieve was shocked to see that Robert was nodding in agreement and not rolling his eyes in a sarcastic response. The man Robert was in conversation with was on the rounder side and held in his hands a newspaper-which he was waiving around as if it was a flag, when he laughed, his large stomach moved with him.

Ah, she thought. This must be Mr. James Rivington- owner of Rivington's Corner, writer and producer of the Royal Gazette and a well known Tory. Her Uncle had given Genevieve a brief rundown of the man in his most recent letter. Rivington was nosy, and boisterous but had a watchful eye and was not one to be underestimated. Genevieve straightened her shoulders and forced a smile on her polite face.

Genevieve weaved between the tables and placed her hand on Robert's shoulders.

"Robert," She greeted her cousin. Robert turned from his conversation, his lips curling up into what appeared to be a smile. He was glad to see his favorite cousin, and shocked to see that she blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

"Genevieve, I trust you slept well?" Robert pulled his cousin closer and took in her appearance- her dark circles and pale skin- before turning to the gentlemen around him. As much as he wanted to keep Evie away from the British soldiers he knew that it would appear suspicious if he hid her away. "Gentlemen, this is my cousin Genevieve Bell. She will be staying with me till future notice,"

Further notice? More like till I die of old age as a spinster or Robert forces her onto the street she thought.

James Rivington eyed Genevieve in a way that made her hands twitch. His beady eyes missed nothing. Holding out her hand Genevieve went through the proper social introductions not only to Mr. Rivington but also to the surrounding British soldiers. It seemed they all wanted to meet Genevieve- partly because no one believed the gossip that the quiet and boring had a much younger and beautiful cousin.

As Genevieve was being introduced to another British officer- she had lost count how many she'd met- Mr. Rivington leaned into Robert.

"She's a lot more appealing to the eye than you are Townsend," Rivington thought he was hysterically funny and shared his joke with the surrounding men while elbowing Robert. Genevieve's cousin faked amusement but inside he wanted to walk away from this business and never turn back. If it wasn't for his commitment to serving Woodhull, Robert would be at home with a pleasant drink or book. After all the commotion died down in the coffeehouse, Genevieve was finally able to go to her cousin, subtly wiping her hands on the apron attached to her waist. It seemed to her that the last time any of the British officers washed their hands was too long ago.

"Do they not have anything else to occupy their time besides drinking?" She whispered.

Robert smiled in amusement, "If only. It would be best for you to adjust to this from now on," his smile faded away at the thought of his cousin being stuck in such a place. If only his father had agreed to take her in. Though in his heart Samuel wanted to, he knew the city would liven Genevieve spirits. Or at least, he hoped that it would.

"Kenna mentioned earlier that I would be cleaning the rooms?" Genevieve was actually quite happy that she wouldn't be surrounded by all the drink happy men- she'd rather stay behind the lines unseen than be out in the bar serving them. Just thing of their leering eyes and grabby hands made Genevieve frown.

"Yes," Robert replied while filling glasses, he didn't fail to notice Genevieve expression. "If you don't mind of course."

Genevieve nodded in agreement and moved away in search of a breakfast. She hoped there was eggs- they were her favorite. It wasn't till later in the afternoon that Genevieve actually began her work, partially due to the distraction of Kenna as well as meeting the staff and servants in the coffeehouse. Instead of walking through the seating area and past the pool table as her and Kenna did the previous time to go upstairs, Genevieve cut through the servants stairs in the kitchen.

"Cleaner here," Genevieve called through the door of the first rental room and gently rapped her knuckle against the wood. Was 'cleaner' the proper word? She wasn't the maid but her 'job' while staying with Robert was to clean the rooms- she made a mental note to ask him about that later. After hearing no movements in the room, Genevieve opened the door wide, shuffling awkwardly through with a broom and pan, watching where to move her feet.

Looking up from the ground, Genevieve gasped.

There in the bed was man. Not only was he sleeping but judging from his bare chest he appeared to be completely unclothed. The man in the bed was charmingly handsome. His hair was a chestnut brown- excluding the white braid accessorizing it- his cheekbones were tall and sharp which shaped his face perfectly, but it was his bare skin which made Genevieve flush. She'd never seen so much of a man.

"Oh Heavens," She squealed and dropped the broom, causing a loud bang. The man in the bed stirred and sat up, causing the blankets to fall back and revealing all of his chest. A blush started at the top of her breasts and rose to her ears. He seemed to be incredibly sculpted.

"What- what are you doing in my room?" The man yawned, stretched his arms above his head and put on a nearby shirt. "Did I order one of you last night?"

Order one of me? Genevieve was confused. After a moment, she realized his meaning.

"No! No! I am not one of your- your call girls!" She declared, much louder than she intended. She could feel her blush spreading to her ears, making them tingle. "I called out before entering, didn't you hear me? I'm to clean these rooms." She gestured with her hands jerkily, having not recovered from viewing his bare chest.

"You look oddly familiar, are you sure we weren't together last night?"

Genevieve had never been more flustered in her life. "I am quite sure, sir." Her voice was high pitched and shaky.

"Well..." The man rubbed his eyes, still blinking away sleep. He was clearly suffering from a previous nights overindulgence of drink. "I should go- um' I am quite sorry about all of this." Genevieve leaned down, gathered the broom from the ground, and exited as if the devil was on her tail. John Andre smiled from his bed as the 'cleaner' left his room all flustered and blushing. He'd been used to women reacting to his certain charms, but he'd never as that type of experience before. With that final thought, he fell back into the bed with a small smile on his face.

As the door closed behind her, Genevieve felt sick to her stomach. How embarrassing. She rushed through the other rooms, not really paying to her surroundings. After a few more hours, Genevieve finished and went in search of Kenna.

XXXXXXXXX

"What did his cock look like?" Unsurprisingly after Genevieve had retold her account of this morning to Kenna, the only detail that she seemed to recall was that the unknown man appeared to be naked. Genevieve gasped at Kenna's crudeness. Though they were alone in the kitchen, there were ears everywhere- anyone could hear Kenna's impropriety. What would Peggy say if she heard such foul language?

"Honestly Kenna, that's all you have to say? After all I've told you? I'm relaying on you for womanly advice and this it what you give to me?" Genevieve replayed the moment over and over in her head.

"Genevieve- Miss Bell-," Kenna paused and crossed her arms over chest, leaning in closer to Genevieve. "My favorite Quaker prude-"

"I am not a Quaker! How dare you call me such names? Are you-" Genevieve was unable to finish her scolding due to Robert poking his head into the kitchen.

"Genevieve and Kenna, do you mind assisting me out here? There's quite a rush going on right now and we aren't fully staffed today." Barely after his sentence finished Robert was back into the fray of serving drinks.

With a small sigh, Genevieve stepped away from the table she was leaning on and grabbed the nearest apron. Before she left she called over her shoulder to Kenna, "Don't tell anyone about this morning, please?" Without waiting for a response she left to go assist her cousin, not looking forward to seeing the mob of redcoats.

Genevieve served drinks to men left and right- only pausing to participate in the mandatory talk between her and the officers, and she had yet to notice John Andre in the corner. Mr. Rivington was standing at the front of the room speaking loudly to the crowd,

"Mark my words, gentlemen, if Loyalists hearts falter, we shall be kneeling before King Louis and calling him King of America."

Rivington continued and as Genevieve made eye contact with Robert, she rolled her eyes before moving back into the fray. She grabbed a full tray of drinks and went over to the table in which the Governor of New York, the Mayor, and a British commander sat and Mr. Rivington stood near by, dodging hands that reached out in hope to touch her.

"Ah Madame Bell, I'd like to introduce you to - well you've already met Matthews and the Governor- John Andre, an honorable man serving in his King's army." Though a smile originally graced Genevieve's face when she came over to the men, it morphed into a shocked expression. There, sitting only a near foot away from her, was the man she'd woken up this morning. He was still devilishly handsome, however this time he was fully dressed. She was grateful for that.

Genevieve refused to make eye contact and instead focused on filling their cups, a blush gracing her face. Andre, the Governor, and the Mayor ignored the woman in front of them and conversed.

Andre spoke first, "Good day, sirs."

"Now hold right there, I am the royal governor of New York and I don't report to you." Genevieve raised her eyebrows at his rude tone.

Andre ignored the Governors tone, and continued. Genevieve hummed at the sound of his voice- it was so velvety. "And I don't mean to suggest otherwise. I'm quit happy for you to take any initiative against these bloody rebels. All that I ask is that if that action involves the gathering of intelligence that my post be made aware, so that one operation doesn't run afoul of another."

Operation? Was this Andre man a spy handler? Genevieve had heard whispers of spies in both Washington's and the King's military but had shook it off as simple tall tales.

"You have a man in Washington's camp?" the Mayor questioned Andre.

Robert called Genevieve from the bar and to not look suspicious, she went to him.

"What are you up to, cousin? This is the longest time I've seen you spend at a table, does the handsome Andre tempt you?" Robert teased her. Genevieve huffed and went back to serving. She walked by Andre's table, her ears straining to hear.

"His name is Worthington. The good Reverend Worthington." Genevieve's hands shook as she poured mead into a waiting cup. So the man that the British had employed in spying was named Worthington. Throughout the rest of the evening Genevieve was fighting a mental battle.

What was she to do? Tell Robert? But then what if he was to go to the authorities- then she would be reported as a spy?

She felt sick to her stomach.

Genevieve moved through the motions of the evening- pouring drinks and coffee, laughing at the occasional joke and flirtations. Finally when the room emptied and the tables were wiped down, Genevieve went to bed and this time she remembered to undress.

XXXXXX

God, don't men know how to clean anything?

Of course, Genevieve expected this. She knew that cleaning up after British soldiers would require some amount of patience, an iron stomach and a pair of strong hands. But she thought that they would at least empty their dirty chamber pots- apparently it was too much to ask. Men. Genevieve spent the morning sweeping, changing sheets and refilling basins. She left the room, and made her way down the hall. Her stomach growled in hunger. It seemed that even though she consumed a delicious bowl of porridge not two hours ago, Genevieve was still hungry.

Genevieve stopped in front of her final room- Roberts. He had insisted over breakfast this morning that he was completely capable of cleaning his room, in fact he seemed quite panicked when Genevieve had offered. She wasn't certain why he acted the way he did but it was the least she could do. Especially because she was avoiding the bar area in case the Governor or Andre was there. Her mind was still unsettled about the issue of Reverend Worthington.

Genevieve shuffled through her ring of keys, nodding at any officers that passed. Finally she found Roberts room key in the set and unlocked the wooden door. His room was similar to hers in layout, but seemed to be more lived in. Genevieve's room still had the trunk pushed into the corner and empty of personal items, while Robert's desk was covered in papers, musical sheets and books. She smiled when she saw the Geneva bible. Uncle Samuel had pestered Genevieve in their letters to make sure Robert was tracking down the bible for him- apparently Robert had found it.

Not to her surprise, Roberts room was clean- the floor was free of dust and dirt, the bed was made and the pot clean. She leaned the broom against the wall and sat down in Roberts desk chair. She fully believed the best way to know someone was to read the books they were read, or as people said 'put yourself in their shoes'. Though if Peggy were here she would scold Evie for being so nosy- it was a maids job wasn't it? She opened up the bible first and flipped through the pages.

Thou shall not...

Boring.

She clossed it with a huff and put it back where it was originally then riffled through the rests of Roberts books. Footsteps sounded from the hallway and stopped in front of the door. With a start Genevieve stood quickly and faced the door, knocking over a stack of nearby books in the process. Please, please don't it be Robert she thought.

"C'mon Tommy, let's go see if that pretty lass Kenna is tending the bar." A voice called in the hallway. The footsteps, presumably Tommy's, moved away from the door.

Genevieve let out a deep sigh of relief and placed her hand on her thudding heart. God, what was she doing? She leaned over and piled the books together. A small letter escaped one of the books, the paper falling in the air looked to her like a loose handkerchief on a windy day. She put the books on the desk before reaching for the note. It was small, but covered in cursive writing. Genevieve could clearly see the words 'Agent' then followed by a series of three numbers. The letter briefly disclosed tactics of letter writing and coding.

Coding? Tactics?

Her mind swirled with the new information, putting the pieces together.

"He's a spy," She whispered to the empty room, waiting for a voice to contradict her and tell her she was simply confused.

Not the bible, nor the works of Shakespeare held enough words to describe the anger- more like wrath- surging through her body. How dare he? How could Robert do this to his father? How could he be acting in such a manner in a city full of red coats- and not tell her! By God- was he out of his mind? Her small hands tingled with a white fury and her eyes seemed to be lined with a layer of red. Or was it tears?

She grabbed her broom- wishing it were a sword in which she could impale Robert with- and raced out of the room. Ignoring the calls and empty cups that were lifted in a silent request, she sped through the seating area and into the back kitchen.

Robert froze in his seat when he saw his cousin storm into the room. She was no kitten with claws but rather a wild lion or raging tornado- ready to ruin him. Her face which was normally a shade comparable to fresh cow milk- was red like a farmers burn. Her lips were turned down in a small frown and her eyes narrowed when she saw that he was reading the Royal Gazette.

God, if she wasn't a woman or lacking a weapon Robert would've feared for his life.

"Have you lost all of your sense?" Instead of a squeal or shout Genevieve voice was no louder than a whisper. Roberts brow furrowed- it was like he was a child again being scolded by his mother.

"Evie, I'm not entirely sure what is the matter." Robert saw the way his cousins hands shook and decided to close his paper.

"How could you do this? Have you forgotten everything your father told you about making wise choices? About not sending yourself to your own death?" Genevieve threw the broom to the side and pushed Roberts shoulders in anger.

Robert stood and took Genevieve's hands in his own, his eyes suddenly alight with anger.

"Calm down,"

"Calm down? Calm down? You're a spy, Robert! A spy!" She ripped her hands from him and paced around the small kitchen.

Roberts face paled, and his shoulders dropped. "Does anyone else know?" Genevieve noticed the fear that settled in his eyes- did he think that she would report him?

"No! Robert, unlike you, I have a head on my shoulders! Do you honestly think that this will end well? That after all of this- fuss," She threw her hand up into the air with frustration, "you'll come out on the winning side?"

Loud laughter sounded from the seating area, as well as calls for more ale. "Where is that girl, Kenna when I need her- you'd think I paid her for not tending the coffeehouse" Robert muttered under breath. "We'll discuss this later."

And with that Robert left the kitchen, his tawny colored braid moving gently with the motion. Genevieve's mouth opened and closed like a fish underwater. Robert seemed to much less concerned about this than she was. She sat down in the nearest kitchen chair and curled her torso over her knees, cupping her face in her hands.

Suddenly the problems that she once faced with Peggy like flattering dress colors or when the next ball was seemed so minuscule now.


	3. Chapter 3: Espionage

_COPYRIGHT 2017: TURN: Washington's Spies characters and plot line belong to the author and producers. OC characters and their plot lines belong to myself._

**Chapter Three: The Culper Ring**

"So the nymphs they spoke,  
we kissed and laid.  
By noontime's hour  
our love was made.

Like braided chains of crocus stems,  
we lay entwined, I laid with them.  
Our breath, one glassy, tideless sea,  
our bodies draping wearily,  
we slept, I slept so lucidly,  
with hopes to stay this memory."  
― Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy

Genevieve was always one to admit first that she failed or a made a mistake, she wasn't one to be obsessive over success and glory. It was this trait that made her now realize that her current predicament was one of her finest failures that she ever had committed. Following Robert out of York City, trailing behind him for over an hour in a small farmers wagon, then hiking into the nearby woods neatly summarized her mess of an evening so far. Let's not forget the fact that she was only clothed in her night gown, a cloak and a stolen pair of Kenna's riding boots. If only Robert had sat down with her and explained his role in the war, she would be home above the coffeehouse sleeping soundly. But, alas.

After Robert had escaped her wrath in the kitchen, he avoided her for the rest of the day. It wasn't her plan to follow him into the dead of night but when she saw him from her bedroom window leaving the coffeehouse at nearly eleven- she had no choice. Her cousin was tangled in a mess and it was her responsibility to safe him from it- it's what her father and her uncle would want her to do. A twig snapping underfoot startled Genevieve from her thoughts and she moved to hide behind a nearby tree. Her breaths came out in a white puff, visible from the cold temperatures. Poking her head from the cover of the tree Genevieve could see Roberts lantern glowing brightly in the night. Was her cousin hoping to be robbed by nearby brigands? His lantern would surely draw them or worse- soldiers.

She inhaled deeply. The forest smelled of wet, dying leaves, dirt and mushrooms. After seeing no cause for alarm Genevieve moved from her hiding spot and continued, trailing Robert by a few hundred feet. She was actually quite surprised her cousin hadn't caught her yet- Genevieve was not known for her stealth. Finally Robert stopped at a small creek, and whistled. He appeared to be waiting for someone to pop out from the bushes any second now.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. Thank God that she was not a redcoat, or else her dear cousin would be dead. For Robert being such a cautious and suspicious man- he wasn't very subtle. A twig snapped again, this time much closer. As Genevieve turned around, a leather gloved hand covered her mouth and a cool metal piece was placed at the side of her head.

"Scream, and I'll shoot ya lass." The voice of her attacker was accented and a tiny bit muffled. It reminded her of her grandfather- he had great large beard that often affected his speech. Genevieve squirmed in the mans grip but didn't scream. Her mind circled through plans and plans of escape all which would hopefully not alert Robert to her presence. A sudden idea alight her mind.

"Shite!" The man dropped her constraints- his arms- around her as she bit into his hand. Genevieve didn't look behind her as she ran from the man but only managed to get a few feet. There, only a few lengths away, was a continental officer blocking her escape.

She gasped audibly and whipped her head around seeking an escape like a trapped animal. Both of the mens faces were obscured by the darkness of the forest, but she could tell that they both were stronger than her. Genevieve backed herself into a nearby oak tree and stared, waiting for them to make the first move.

"Why were you following that man?" The man who grabbed her earlier was donned in not a military garb but black leather- material that a sailor would use. He was not as tall nor lean as the continental man from what she could tell but rather more compact. A small hiss left her mouth as he raised his gun to her again.

The man in the continental uniform stepped forward, his hand on the sword attached at his waist. "Brewster, that's no way to treat a lady-"

"A lady? She's following our man Ben! How do we know that's she not hiding a gun under her skirts- or if she's a spy?"

"I wish I had a gun under my skirts," She mummered to herself, neither of the men seemed to hear her. It was a miracle that Robert hadn't heard all of the commotion by now. Genevieve half expected that he was hiding behind one of the trees, not wanting to risk his own skin to save his cousin. She could imagine what an interesting scene Robert would walk into. His cousin cornered into a tree wearing her nightdress- which if it wasn't for her boots the length of the dress would revel her ankles-, what seemed to be a sailor wielding a gun and a continental officer.

Robert- as Kenna would say- would shite himself.

Suddenly the clouds cleared and both the mens faces were revealed to Genevieve by the moonlight. As she had guessed, the sailor man's face was covered in a large dark, bristly beard. His skin was tan and his small brown eyes moved from Genevieve to the officer- never stopping. Overall he was quite dirty. She took in the small pleasure that she was taller than him, however not by much.

While Genevieve was staring at the sailor, she failed to see the officers eyes on her. Benjamin Tallmadge was in awe- plain and simple. The woman- no nymph- in front of him was the most enchanting work of God he'd ever seen. She was quite tall for her sex, her eyebrows reaching the top of Caleb's head, thin yet still proportioned evenly. Her hair was a light blond and free of pins, the color reminding him of the beaches at Setauket, but Benjamin was uncertain of her eye color. Was it blue, or grey? Every time her head moved a different angle, the moon would alter what color her eyes seemed to be. Her clothing- or therefore lack of- caused stirring of desire in his loins. She adorned a simple white night gown- thin and at certain angles see through revealing a thin stomach and swell of breasts- plain boots and a wool cloak. Her attire did not seem to suggest that she was spy or that she was prepared for this outing. Though her appearance was attractive and most certainly tempting, it was the woman's attitude that intrigued Ben.

Despite being out alone in the forest, sparsely clothed, and currently being threaten by a gun- she seemed to be controlled. Her air of calmness suggested that she was at a tea party- or relaxing rather than being threatened by two men.

"I said, lass, who the hell are you?" Calebs voice forced Benjamin's attention away from the woman. Before she could respond, Benjamin interrupted him.

"I am Major Tallmadge," he gestured to his right to Caleb, "and this Lieutenant Brewster, m'am." Next to him Caleb sputtered in indignation.

Genevieve heart rate accelerated. The adrenaline coursing through her made her want to run, run as fast away as she could despite the odd whisper in her mind urging that she was safe near this Major.

"You're in the wrong territory, Major-." Her voice shook.

All three of them turned in surprise when Robert- Culper Jr. to the Major and Brewster- came into the clearing, his face expressing anger and confusion. "What in the Lords name is going on here?" Robert shouted. Genevieve had never heard him raise his voice so high in her life. She was almost flattered to see his reaction to her being threatened.

Robert moved in front of Genevieve, bravely slapping Brewster's gun away from them.

"How dare you raise your weapon at her!"

Genevieve reached forward and touched her cousins shoulder in a silent communication of comfort. The Major nor Brewster did not miss this exchange.

"Your girly here was following you, Townsend. You should be thankful to us- she could've easily killed ya."

"Killed me? Killed me? She is my cousin! Genevieve would never raise her hand against me." Roberts face was bewildered. Benjamin opened his mouth to apologize to the both, sensing that the situation was quickly escalating. Before he could, Genevieve formed the connection that Robert had to these two men. These were his handlers for his spy work.

Genevieve moved out from behind Robert and walked quickly to the Major, poking her finger into his chest in a sudden rush of anger- all the while attempting to ignore how firm and tall he was. "You're the man who's involved my cousin in this, aren't you? How dare you- how dare you do this to him- bring such danger into his life! You've signed his death warrant," All the ravaging emotions the Genevieve had felt before at Robert were now targeted at the Major in front of her.

"Ma'am please-" and "Evie no," greeted her ears but Genevieve was far too gone.

"I want him out of whatever web you've weaved him into! I want you to never contact him again, if you do I swear to God," Genevieve had never threatened a man and she was unable to this time because Robert interrupted her.

Grabbing her shoulders, Robert forced his cousin to turn away from the Major and meet his eye. "This is my choice. You have no right to decide this for me or to treat the Major in such a way." Robert knew that Genevieve was displeased at his involvement in the war, but had no idea that she was going to attempt to stop it.

Genevieve wasn't one to cry, but her anger was overwhelming and her eyes pooled over with tears. "Robert- how can you not see what danger you lie in? This is not one of your books you read as a child! You are no knight or hero who one day will have songs written about him! You will die cousin, your life is no story with a happy ending- this will only end in one way if you do not stop- your hanging from a tree as a spy!" She cried.

Brewster lowered his gun and stepped back uncomfortably, then looked to Tallmadge like child would look to his father to fix a problem.

Instead of answering, Robert stepped away looking pale and rubbed his forehead in way that suggested an incoming headache.

Genevieve moved forward again to the Major, and took his hands . She had never touched a man like this- her relatives and good friends excluded- and it made her heart flutter. It was almost comical, her small hands practically being swallowed whole by his large calloused ones. Her eyes watered as she looked up to meet the Majors alarmingly blue eyes, and spoke quietly. "If you'll not release him from this then let me help him. I'll do anything! I clean at the coffeehouse- I'm in the rooms of great British officers unnoticed. Surely I'll be a helpful addition, or I can come meet you to transports Roberts information. No one would question my movements. Please, I beg of you."

Benjamin looked uncertainly to Caleb, then to the woman in front of him. His mind was reeling and not just because of this new information. If Roberts cousin had been able to discover his actions didn't that mean that others could as well? The leather book in his side pocket containing new protocol and methods for the Culper Ring felt more heavy than ever. Should he give such information to Robert, even though he could be compromised the next day? He withdrew his hands quickly and hoped that she hadn't felt his quivering.

An owl called out into the dark night from a nearby perch, reminding Benjamin that they were out in the open and in high danger right now.

Benjamin spoke slowly, making sure to choose the right words that would inflict no offense. "Townsend if your cousin was able to discover such information, then how do you know that another might not do the same? We are lucky that your cousin seems to be of patriotic loyalty, but what if the next time..." he trailed off, fully confident that those in attendance understood what he was suggesting.

"I can assist Robert- I will make sure that no one knows of his activities." Genevieve's tears had dried. If she couldn't free Robert of these binds then perhaps she could help him with it.

"No offense lass, but you know nothing of this work- you'll just put Robert in more danger for all we know." Brewster once again looked to Tallmadge, this time expecting an agreement from him but the Major was locked in deep thought.

"I can do this," she protested, a small frown forming on her face. Then she remembered the discussion in the coffeehouse a day earlier. " A Reverend by the name of Worthington has infiltrated into your camp and has been passing information to outside British forces- specifically the New York Governor."

Both men reacted differently- a wild rage came over Brewster while the only emotional shift in the Major seemed to be in his stance. Before he was standing proud and tall, now his shoulders were hunched and his feet shifted nervously. She didn't fail to notice that his hand moved the saber at his side.

"Shite! Shite, Ben! That bloody man has been under our nose for four months. Four months!" Brewster shouted, causing nesting birds nearby to fly away in a stir of beating wings and calls.

"Shhh!" Instead of acknowledging Brewster's statement, the Major stepped closer to Genevieve. Their proximity would've been seen as improper to any outsider to the situation. It made Genevieve want to pat her hair and examine her reflection just in case a hair was loose or her face was dirty.

"How did you come by this information?" the Major asked calmly, his voice not betraying the inner turmoil.

"As you know I work in my cousins coffeehouse. It is general knowledge that officers- men in general really- tend to speak more freely when their hands are grasping a full cup, your sex seems to often forget that we women have ears and some amount of intelligence." Despite everything, Genevieve couldn't help the small sarcasm in her tone.

The Major nodded silently, and called over his shoulder to Brewster. "We need to share this information with Washington as soon as possible."

As the Major turned away from Genevieve without thinking she reached out and grabbed his upper arm. It seemed all rational choices were out the window tonight. "But what about me? I'm capable of helping your cause, aren't I?" Once the Major fully faced her again- irate about her stubbornness- she placed her hands on her hips and waited. Genevieve's posture and expression reminded both Ben and Caleb of their friend Anna Strong.

Caleb voiced this, muttering under his breath "Jesus it's like another Annie- just taller."

"Miss Townsend-"

"Bell, Genevieve Bell" She corrected the Major.

"Miss Bell, despite my better wishes it would seem that the cause could benefit from your contribution." The Majors face tightened as he continued. "I will be remaining in the area for the next two days, if you're willing meet me here to discuss your new role and other details."

After the brief formalities of departing, Genevieve dragging Robert left the Continental soldiers in the small clearing and made a quick work of leaving the woods. Time passed quickly as they were traveling home, partially due to Roberts brooding silence and the state of Genevieve's mind and heart. It felt as if there was a cannonball of dread weighing her down in her stomach and a tightness coiling around her chest. God, what had she done? She didn't regret her choice- Genevieve never regretted anything that would or could protect her family- but this task of spying now seemed much more daunting to her than earlier. Finally the tall brick and wood buildings of York City surrounded them. Early light of dawn was slowly spreading through the city, illuminating the rising steam of the harbor and the empty cobble streets. She had never seen the city so peaceful or quiet. There was no shouting, no animals and for the first time she had ever seen it- there was no line waiting for invitation to enter outside the coffeehouse.

Without saying anything to her Robert stormed past her to the stairs in the back, presumably to go to bed, as they entered. Genevieve could do no such thing- she had too much to think about. Genevieve eyed the seating area with relief- glad to see the room swept and the tables clean- but that all disappeared when she entered the kitchen. It seemed that Kenna once again lacked on her duties. The large wooden table in the center of the room was covered with dirty pots and pans, the stone floor was littered with vegetable peelings and the fire place was full of ash.

Sighing, Genevieve untied her cloak and went upstairs to change into a gown. After she returned downstairs, Genevieve made quick work of emptying the fireplace and sweeping of the vegetable peelings, but the dirty dishes seemed to be a much more daunting task. As she cut outside to enter the cellar where the water pump was, cool air greeted her face and moved the small fly away hairs around. Long gone was the silent city that had been only two hours before. The streets were full of moving carts, British soldiers stood at their posts, and dirty pans were being emptied out into the streets.

After filling two buckets with water, she struggled carrying them back up to the kitchen door. Gasping, Genevieve dropped both buckets on the ground- water sploshing out onto the ground.

"Ugh!" She shouted out in frustration, and kicked one of the buckets.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance?" John Andres voice was cool and level. He was leaning causally against the alley way wall not seven feet from her.

How long had he been there?

Genevieve swallowed her pride and smoothed out her dress. "That would be much appreciated, thank you kindly Major."

Instead of moving to assist her, Andre continued to observe- his posture and the way his eyes missed nothing reminded Genevieve of a predator- a slinking lynx in wild northeast. After a few seconds of heavy silence, Andre came to her and leaned down to take a bucket. As Genevieve leaned down to take the other one, he clucked his tongue and laughed. His laughter was not deep like other men but light, like tinkling bells.

"I wouldn't be a gentleman if I let you take that bucket."

As he bent over again Genevieve averted her eyes from him and racked her brain for something to say. Every time she looked at Andre a vision of him in bed filled her head and seemed to paralyze her tongue. Genevieve opened her mouth but nothing came out so instead she simply walked ahead of him and lead him into the kitchen.

"I've never been back here before," Andre's shoulder width and height seemed to take up the whole room as he placed the buckets on the table with ease.

"Yes, well- I don't think you're permitted to be." Genevieve reached up and pushed away the hair the was now falling into her eyes. As much as she'd love to sit down with a cup of tea and socialize with a man who wasn't drunk and not her cousin- Genevieve had things to do and already people were stirring upstairs.

The Major, as if reading her mind, bowed down to take her hand. "A good day to you, Miss Bell" His lips graced her hadst quickly before he exited to the seating area. She hadn't realized that she was holding her breath.

Inhaling deeply Genevieve reached for the first dish, a the lye soap. Servants came and went through the kitchen, Kenna eventually joined her at the washing but soon she had to go out and serve drinks. The only breaks she was able to take were to clean quickly upstairs and to eat breakfast. Suddenly, a familiar voice could be heard from the seating area. Dropping her soap and the current dish on the table, Genevieve ran out to where she could see Robert conversing.

"Uncle!" She cried and wrapped her arms around his neck, delivering a swift hug. Taking a step back Genevieve looked down at Uncle Samuel, Roberts father. He was shorter than her, on the rounder side, with dark brown eyes. Unlike what his religion asked of him, Uncle was not hiding his wealth- in fact it could be clearly observed in the well made cane and silver buckles on his shoes.

"What brings you here, Uncle?" Genevieve asked him.

Uncle looked to Robert, then back to her. He was hesitating. "Does she know?" Uncle mummered to Robert.

Robert threw up his hands and in a exasperated tone whispered, "Well if she didn't you've just told her."

Uncle frowned, then his expression changed to one of regret as he realized his mistake. Robert rolled his eyes and motioned them to the kitchen.

There small amount of staff that Rivington had hired for the coffeehouse was somewhere else, leaving the kitchen empty. Genevieve winced when she saw the stack of plates and cups that remained on the table, only slightly smaller because of her.

"Genevieve has been informed of our current activities in this revolution, Father. She has also demanded to our handler that she also is allowed participation." It was clear from Roberts bitter tone and clumsy hand gestures, he was not pleased.

Uncle nodded slowly, processing this new information. "Well, I suppose it would do you good to have a partner, Robert."

Robert hearing this gave out a loud sigh, rolled his eyes- a new action that he seemed to enjoy partaking in- and went back out to serving drinks.

"You know of Roberts activities, Uncle?" Genevieve could not tell if she was comforted by this or not. Though it was better for the 'cause' per say, it placed her only living Uncle in terrible danger.

"I have since he started, dear. I often carry information from Robert to another- Culper Sr if you do not know. However, Robert has forbidden any greater participation from me besides this." Uncle lifted up the small Geneva bible in his hand.

"Father," Robert called.

Leaning forward, Uncle gave Genevieve a short hug while whispering in her ear. "Watch over him for me, Evie. And yourself as well."

Uncle stepped away and gathered his hat and cloak from the table, waving goodbye over his shoulder. Genevieve sat down in a soft whoosh skirts and hair in a nearby chair.

"Just how many people are in this espionage club?" Genevieve mummered under her breath. Her hands laid weak in her lap, rubbed sore and red from the constant dish washing.

"What was that, lass?" Kenna came into the room loudly, dropping a wooden crate of empty Madeira and ale bottles. Her red hair was starting to come undone under the white cap she wore. Genevieve could never tolerate such headpieces, her refusal to wear one often caused a sever scolding from her mother.

"Oh, nothing. Simply thinking out loud." Genevieve responded. Did Kenna also know of Roberts participation in the Rebel cause?

Kenna nodded, knowing better not to question the woman. Instead, she pulled up a chair and broke the lye soap in half- and started washing the remaining plates and glasses.


	4. Chapter Four: The Beginning

COPYRIGHT 2017: TURN: Washington's Spies characters and plot line belong to the author and producers. OC characters and their plot lines belong to myself. 

Chapter 4: The Beginning 

A cool wind blew through the streets of York City, rattling loose shutters and causing many men and women alike to dress warmly. It was not the kind of weather that Genevieve wanted to meet the Major in. The climate caused her face to become an assortment of colors and while all the same being ghostly pale. The light freckles that were dusted across her nose were now much more noticeable and combined with her chapped lips and blushed cheeks, Genevieve did not look at all presentable. She was irate with herself for wanting approval from the Major, after all it shouldn't matter what she looked like- at least not to him. But a small, childish part of her sought after his approval.

Genevieve tugged on the leather reigns that she held, stopping the horse in front of her. It seemed that now the redcoats performed inspections inside the city. Families, business men, and loners gathered in a single file line- some on tall horses others using the natural way of transportation of their feet. She was grateful that Mr. Rivingington had lent her a horse and wagon. Though it was entirety unnecessary, Genevieve had successfully convinced all that she was retrieving coffee grounds from a trade post in the town over. If she was to be spy for the army, she needed a 'cover-up story' as Robert had said. 

"Good Morning, Madam." The officer to her side held his gloved hand out, waiting for her papers. His face was scarred with pox, causing his skin to appear porous and dented. Despite the fact that Genevieve had all the correct documents and there was no reason for the young officer to refuse her, a small sweat formed at the back of her neck and she felt nervous. Genevieve pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at the officer. She imagined herself as Peggy; feminine, beautiful- all men bowing to her command.

It'll be fine she told herself over and over.

You're a strong woman. You're protecting your family.

Genevieve watched with anticipation as the officer who had taken her documents walked over to his superior for approval. The men turned around and looked at, then bent their heads together again.

"What's the bloody wait? She's a woman for god's sake!" A hoarse voice called from the back of the line. Genevieve's heart pounded.

The officer returned, Genevieve's papers folded neatly in his hand.

"Sorry ma'am, it's just there's been some a' speculation about spies round here recently," When the officer spoke his lips pealed back to revel cracked, yellow teeth. 

"It's is no trouble sir, we must all do our best to wipe these rebels from the King's land." Genevieve smiled, and took back her papers. If only the Major had seen her lie so well, why he might've been proud.

Genevieve grasped the leather reigns, the material surprising smooth against her palms and clicked her tongue to urge the horse on. The last time she had seen the Major they both decided to hold their future meetings where they had first met, the small clearing by the creek.

Wind blew gently, stirring limbs of trees nearby as Genevieve tugged on the reigns of the horse, forcing him to stop in front of a large brick house. The home belonged to Widow Jamine, a wealthy heiress who often visited her sibling-in-law's in New Jersey. Robert had insisted that the Widow's husband, a once frequent visitor to the coffeehouse, would not have objected to her use of the home's drive. 

Genevieve struggled to get off from the wagon despite the advantage that her height offered, it seemed that without the assistance of her father or a willing hand she stumbled. Her feet were unsteady when she finally landed on the hard, dirt ground. Genevieve readjusted her skirts and drew her cloak's hood above her head, the dark brown color blended in with the surrounding woods. The walk from the Widow's home to the clearing by the creek was quicker than Genevieve had remembered and soon she was standing alone, the soft noise of the running water next to her and the calls of the birds above her filled her ears. She reached into her skirts, seeking the deep pockets that held multiple reports from Robert. Though her hands were starting to numb from the cool air, she could still feel the rough texture of the letters. Over and over she traced Roberts cursive inscription. The letters were all addressed to Sally Townsend, Roberts sister. Robert reassured his cousin that to any outsider these letters would simply describe Genevieve's stay at the coffeehouse and Roberts longing for home in Oyster Bay but to a well versed spy master such as the Major, they would report a variety of intelligence. The letters were all in code, meaning even if Genevieve was compromised she would not appear to be carrying secrets of the British army.

"Don't be silly, Evie." Robert had said dismissively to Genevieve when she questioned his coding. "No British man, or woman" he corrected himself when he saw the furrow between Genevieve's brow form- a sure sign of her irritation with him for not remembering that women were perfectly capable to do this job as well. "Knows the our coding, to be perfectly honest I am not even sure that Washington himself knows it." Robert chuckled to himself and went back to washing the pints, mistakenly thinking that Genevieve's worry was soothed.

When recalling this mornings conversations with Robert no longer entertained her, Genevieve took out the extra parchment and ink she had brought with her. Due to the volume of her skirts, it was very easy to use them as substitute for a writing table- the ink on the other hand she was not so sure of its stability. Genevieve placed the ink bottle on a smooth boulder next to her log of a seat, instead of her lap which would risk the spoil of her dress by ink. She sighed, and began to write- unaware that the Major was watching her from behind a tree.

My Dearest Friend,

Congratulations are in order to you, Peggy. It was not three days ago that I saw the announcement of your marriage to Benedict Arnold, I believe the title of the article read "Belle of Philadelphia, Margaret Shippen, Married to Benedict Arnold in a Quiet Ceremony of Close Friends, and Family". Is it improper of me to ask of the status of our relationship? Has our friendship been demoted since my relocation to York City? I cannot hide my hurt feelings, Peggy. I've decided that you must allow me to visit, as a sort of apology. Please decide the date and send for me. I have many things to tell

A sudden snap of twigs alerted Genevieve. Benjamin Tallmadge emerged from the cover trees, dressed in civilian clothes. Despite how handsome he had been in his uniform earlier, the simple clothing he donned was equally alluring.

"Who are you writing to?" The Major jumped gracefully over the creek that separated them and stood in front of Genevieve, his hand outstretched towards her. Ignoring his offer for assistance, Genevieve folded her letter and stood, careful not to knock over the ink.

"I believe that is none of your business, Major." Genevieve retorted and leaned down, gathering her bottle of ink before placing it in her pocket. She turned around to face him, planting her hands of her hips.

"As your handler I do believe it is, Miss Bell." The Major teased, his smile quirking up at one corner.

Genevieve had planned to apologize for her behavior the last time that they had met, but now she had no desire to do so. She pushed back loose strands of hair that were falling into her eyes and shivered when the Majors blue eyes watched her every move.

"I am not spreading army secrets around disguised as letters to my intended, if that is what you're asking." Amusement left the Majors eyes and was replaced with something dark. Had she touched a sore subject?

Rather than letting herself dwell on the thought, Genevieve moved onto another subject. Keeping her voice light, she questioned him. "Should we start the lesson?"

Benjamin nodded, and stepped around Genevieve to occupy the log she had just left. As he passed her, she was able to see the fine details of his face only seen with proximity. There was a small cut below his lower lip, most likely from shaving, and a small mole behind his left ear. In his close passing, Genevieve could smell the combination of hay, smoke and gunpowder. It was surprisingly pleasing to her. 

Slowly Genevieve followed him and made sure not to sit too close, fearful that she would want to lean into him or do something worse. Benjamin reached inside his coat, retrieving a small leather journal. He fingered through the pages, stopping when he found a page filled with numbers. 

"I feel as though I am in school again," She laughed quietly. 

The Major gave her a small smile, and passed her the book. Geneieve frowned as she took in the many three digit numbers and the names.

"I do not know these men- Samuel Culper?" She traced the name lightly and glanced up at the Major. She focused on deep blue of his eyes, and the way that his eyelashes caused small shadows on his face when he looked down. Geneieve blushed when his eyes met hers.

The Major scooted closer and pointed to the number 722. "Samuel Culper, also known as 722, is a spy located in enemy territory. I cannot tell you his real identity or his location." He was now close enough that if she wanted to, Genevieve could easily reach over and brush the loose hair behind his ear.

"Should I know all of these?" Genevieve bit her lip in worry, there had to be a least twenty numbers accompanied by names. How could she memorize all of this?

"I don't believe that you should, however there are some numbers that you must know. This one for example," The Major traced his finger down the list till he encountered the number 723.

"Who is this?"

The Major gave her a tentative smile. "Robert Townsend, your cousin."

A strong breeze came through the clearing, making Genevieve shiver and lean into the Major. Before she could process her mistake, the Major stood and paced in front of her, leaving the journal in Genevieve's lap. She blushed and quickly returned to the journal, the Major seemed to be unaffected. 

How embarrassing.

"Who is John Bolton, do I know him?" The Major stopped pacing and gave Genevieve a small bow. 

"At your service, Madam." Benjamin was surprised he was enjoying Miss Bells company so much. The night before his stomach had been tight with nerves and worry but it seemed that in her company, Benjamin was calm and completely relaxed. It was a good feeling, being free of the stress that camp and war often caused. 

Genevieve reached up to cover her mouth as a small bubble of laughter escaped her. "Truly? And what is my name? I would like to be called something exciting- perhaps something French?" Once again, it seemed as though Genevieve had said something wrong. The Major stopped in front of her and took the journal from her grasp, carefully avoiding contact with her hands.

"You don't have a code name." His voice was low and his face stiffened, as if he was waiting for some rebuttal of the greatest kind.

Her mouth opened in a small 'o'. Genevieve could't help but feel disappointed. Though she was by no circumstances eager to be spying or placed in such great danger, she was doing this for her cousin- the only family she had remaining- she had expected more than this. It was the small childish part of her coming out again.

Her mouth opened and a small sigh came out from Genevieve's mouth. She waved her hand causally, and gave the Major a false smile. "You're looking at me as if I will shatter, Major. My role in this Culper Ring is minor, and combined with my gender- I expected nothing less."

Though it was meant to soothe the Major, Genevieve's statement only made him feel him overwhelmingly guilty even though it was excusable for him not to be. He stood still, the breeze gently moving the short curls that had escaped his queue that rested at the back of his neck. Genevieve's eyes of cool gray battled the deep blue ones of the Major, though she said nothing the emotions swirling in her orbs told a different story. 

"Come and teach me what I need know to protect my cousin and serve this country, Major." Genevieve extended her arm, her fingers reaching towards him in invitation. Unable to refuse, the Major came to her and opened the journal once again.

The Major and Genevieve bent their heads together, her golden locks contrasting with his darker, sandy brown ones. The air around them was no longer causal or enjoyable, instead it was somber and serious. It was not long till Genevieve had to leave and return to the coffeehouse, for the guise of retrieving goods would not keep her out for more than a few hours. Before they separated Genevieve and the Major decided that the would need to see each other sooner rather than later, meaning she would need another excuse to leave York City. The Major had devised a simple, yet convincing story. Genevieve's Aunt, sister of her Father and her Uncle Samuel, had fallen ill to fever. Though Aunt Emile had servants to occupy her time and keep her as comfortable as they could, she yearned for the company that only family could provide. 

She returned late to the coffeehouse, though the midnight sky above her was dark and silent, the streets surrounding her were lively. Women dressed in volumes of brightly colored silk and accessorized with jewels of all sizes were lined outside the door of the elite coffeehouse with the occasional British officer accompanying them. Drunkards huddled in corners called out to passersby, wanting either money, drink, or the company of a woman. The street lamps that lined to cobble roads were illuminating the high plumes of smoke rising out of chimneys, causing a faint purple haze. 

"Hello Charles" Genevieve greeted the doorman. 

"Evening Miss Bell, I trust you had a successful trip?" Charles deep baritone was easily heard above the noise escaping from the coffeehouses open windows. 

"Yes, I did thank you kindly. Do you mind tasking one of the servant boys with carrying the bags down into the cellar and returning Mr Rivington's horse? I would do it myself but," Genevieve pointed to the wagon over her shoulder, the horse was impatiently lifting his hooves up and down on the cobble. 

Charles opened the heavy wooden door in front of her and gestured warmly inside. "It would no problem, Miss Bell."

Genevieve gave him a small smile of thanks and entered the coffeehouse. It was unnaturally hot and full of people. Servers, including Kenna, bustled around carrying cups overflowing in ale, while many officers called for more. A local tailor by the name of Mulligan bumped into her briefly, but before she could apologize he moved onto the pool table. Ignoring his rude behavior she continued through the coffeehouse. A jolly tune was being played by man wielding a beautiful fiddle, however there was no dancing. Instead customers were crowded in booths conversing with each other, or playing chess. Or in the case of John Andre, staring broodily into the corner. 

The handsome English man did not look up when Genevieve entered, it seemed that the dark floor boards were the most interesting item in the room. A small laugh escaped her mouth when she saw Major Andre's companion at the table. Philomenia Cheer, blond and bosomy as ever, was sitting in the wooden chair across from the Major. Her hair was piled high and her gown was made of silk with intricate details. It seemed acting was treating the woman well.

Genevieve watched with amusement as Miss Cheer started a conversation with the Major, Johns facing turning from boredom to pain as he was forced to listen. The English gentlemen that he was compelled him to stay only for propriety's sake and nod along occasionally to whatever the actress was saying. 

With one last look over her shoulder at Major Andre, she moved gracefully through the crowd over to where Robert was manning the bar. 

When customers and servers briefly cleared, her cousin turned to her. "Successful?" He asked. 

"Quite," Genevieve paused as Robert turned away her looking for a clean rag. "Our coffee grounds have been replenished. I asked Charles to task someone with moving them to the cellar."

"Why don't you ask the Major Andre? I heard from Kenna that he was quite eager to help you lifting buckets of water?" Robert teased her. He seemed to be in quite a good mood- it was unusual for him. 

Genevieve rolled her eyes and ducked through the kitchen to go upstairs, not wanting to hear from Robert on how he acquired such information. 

It only took her a brief minute to enter her room and light all the candles, brightening all the corners and causing dark shadows to flicker across the walls and windows. She moved lightly around the room, undressing as she went. Genevieve learned how to tie and untie her corset quickly, the lack of a servant to help her though difficult, taught her that she needed to be more independent in even the smallest things. Dressed in only her night shift Genevieve moved to hang up her gown in the wardrobe, but before she could finish a loud noise of crinkling parchment caught her attention. 

Had she forgotten to remove the letter to Peggy?

Concerned, she fingered through her pockets swiftly not excepting to find a letter from Major Tallmadge. 

The parchment was wrinkled but clean, folded over multiple times on itself. On the upper corner in beautiful script were the words, 'Destroy Immediately'.

She moved to sit on her bed unfolding the letter as quickly as she could. It was like she was opening a Christmas gift, excitement and suspense flowed through her causing her thin fingers to shake. 

Miss Bell,

Our next meeting will take at the corner of Horatio/Jane St at midnight. Inform Culper Jr. of this information.

Yours,

John Bolton.

Genevieve read over it at least ten times before holding it over the candle on the bedside table. Gold and red flames licked at the parchment till the consumed in fully, leaving only a pile of black ash on the tin plate. She stood,blew out the candles assembled around her room and dove under her quilts, her mind was racing over the Majors letter- recalling every word.

'Yours, John Bolton' stuck in her mind. 

Hi guys! I am super sorry that this chapter is so late and am sorry to those who I misinformed that it would be out earlier today. Time slips by when you have a tiny bit of writers block. Also does anyone know how to make text bold when editing on this site? Thanks for reading, and please comment/review!!


	5. Chapter 5: A Fool's Dance

Chapter 5: A Fool's Dance

 

She walks in beauty, like the night   
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;   
And all that's best of dark and bright   
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;   
Thus mellowed to that tender light   
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.   
One shade the more, one ray the less,   
Had half impaired the nameless grace   
Which waves in every raven tress,   
Or softly lightens o'er her face;   
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,   
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.   
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,   
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,   
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,   
But tell of days in goodness spent,   
A mind at peace with all below,   
A heart whose love is innocent!

\- She Walks in Beauty, Lord Byron

Lord, let this meal be fulfilling and excellent.

Genevieve pressed her forehead lightly to the tips of her clasped hands in a sign of prayer. To any outsider peering in, Miss Bell would appear to be the proper Quaker woman- her face showing the most steadfast concentration, her mouth pursed in a silent frown and her hands forming a peak in sign of devotion. Even Robert was fooled.

Robert opened his right eye slowly, but kept it narrowed as if he were looking through a lens of some kind. It was odd seeing his cousin so devoted to her prayers. Roberts Uncle, Genevieve's father, had split from the family after he had met his wife- dropping the Quaker religion as soon as he set eyes on the French beauty. Genevieve's father was quick to adopt his new wife's Christian beliefs and raised his children in the same manner. However any person who knew Genevieve would know that she was no longer the praying type.

A small fire glowed in the hearth, the snapping of the burning logs concealed the growls of Genevieve's stomach.

"Dinner is served!" Kenna cried in delight, entering the seating area in the coffeehouse. She weaved through empty tables, wielding two steaming plates. As usual the Scotswoman was red faced and busty, her hair seemed even more colored by the fire.

Genevieve's mouth watered but had not lifted her head, waiting for Robert to make the first move. Her cousin did, reaching out for the plates as Kenna arrived. Though at first both Kenna and Robert insisted that Genevieve should assist at dinner time, both quickly regretted it. Genevieve's womanly skills did not extend to the kitchen- with her the smallest task of toasting bread could quickly turn into a race to extinguish a fiery ball of burnt dough.

"This looks delicious, Kenna" Robert praised her while passing the other plate to Genevieve. Kenna smiled, her ruddy cheeks moving upwards to revel a set of yellow teeth.

"I know," she quipped back in response. "if you don't mind Mista' Townsend I've got myself a small social gathering this evening and I've already eaten and I-"

"Go." Robert interrupted her with a knowing smirk. It was well known public knowledge that Kenna often made a habit to visit a local tavern -much less respectable than Rivingtons- down by the harbor. Genevieve's ears soon heard nothing as she looked down to examine her plate.

The decorated china platter was piled high with an assortment of cuisine. A large portion of cauliflower pudding and cooked carrots was dominating one half of the plate while the rest was dedicated to roast beef and slightly burnt meat pastries. Genevieve had to hold back a small moan.

She was famished.

As delicately as she could, Geneive cut into the roast beef, her fork spearing it still while her knife did the rest. Oblivious of Robert and Kenna's continuse conversation, Geniver savired the small slice of meat that rested on her touge.

"Geneive, have you given thought to what you'll be doing tomorrow?" Robert asked her.

Geneive startled, and cleared her throat of any remainging food.

"An excellent question, cousin. Well I am uh-" Geneive eyed the coffehouse, noticing the small layer of dust along the floor and walls. On the counter of the cage bar sat Roberts chess set and a basket of brown and white eggs.  
"I'll be wiping down the floors, dusting the place. I do believe that the sheets need to be changed upstairs- unless Kenna already accomplished that."

Robert nodded, chewing slowly. The cousins kept their eyes down, focusing on the plates. Occasionally Robert would refill the wine glasses or Genevieve would clear her throat.

Genevieve straightened her shoulders and pushed away from the table, her chair scratching gently against the wooden floor. She smiled, and bid her cousin a goodnight. Genevieve took her plate and cup the kitchen, rinsing them quickly in the dark. Her eyes squinted in the dark, searching for the stairs.

It was easier for her to take the servants stairs rather than the public ones, simply because there was a small chance a running into anyone. This was something she did not want.

Lifting her dark skirts Genevieve ascended the stairs quietly, her lips pursed in concentration. Once upstairs she did not extinguish the candles, leaving them to burn so Robert would not have to wonder the halls in the dark.

A small giggle formed in her throat as the mental picture of Robert fumbling in the dark formed. She could imagine his quiet curses and the broken toes he would suffer from. Her door opened smoothly, unlocked.

"Hello?" She called out into the darkness, her hands curling into small fists. Genevieve quickly turned back out into the hall and took the candle holder from a nearby table. She held her breath and entered her quarters, holding the candle like it was a beacon of light- hopefully illuminating any unwelcome and evil presence in the room. Genevieve did a slow walk around her room, examining all corners. The white curtains on her widow lifted gently, waving in the air. 

"Oh, God." She muttered. 

Kenna might have been foolish enough to forget to lock the door after dropping after clean linens, but she would not have left the window open. Like any rational human, Genevieve was afraid of the dark- afraid of the bad people who hid in its grasp. She rushed to widow and yanked the glass plane back to where it was supposed to be. She stood there frozen, her cheeks were flushed red.

There across the street on the neighboring cobble path, stood a tall man. Clearly clothed in the red uniform of Britain's finest, he stepped out into the street. Major Andre stared boldly up to Genevieve, his lips pursed in a frown. 

Lifting her fingers to the glass Genevieve opened her mouth to question him, then closed it when she remembered the large distance between the two and that he would not be able to hear her. 

Andre moved closed, his shiny black boots wet from the puddles on the street. His face was unreadable, clouded over in deep thought. Genevieve quickly closed her curtains, careful not to spill the hot wax from the candle holder that was in her other hand. She dropped the candle on her bedside table and threw herself onto the pile of quilts and linens. 

"Ugh," She groaned loudly and ran her hands over her face harshly. What was the Major doing outside the coffeehouse- conveniently stationed close to her bedroom window? Genevieve stood and undressed quickly, her hands shaking with the cold and fear. Once in her nightgown she lit the fresh logs that Kenna had previously placed there this morning. Warmth slowly spread through the room, calming Genevieve shivers. 

She sat on the edge of her bed, eyes blankly staring at the growing flames. Fearful thoughts occupied her mind. Why was her door unlocked, and her window open? Had someone uninvited entered her rooms to search them, perhaps for evidence of espionage? Genevieve stood, her body visible through the thin chemise and riffled through her wardrobe, desk and the bedside table. 

Nothing was amiss, no letters were missing and her personal items were where she had left them last. 

Genevieve peeked through her curtains. 

The street below was empty, and a light rain was beginning to fall. The once clear night was turning overcast and cold. 

With too many thoughts in her head, Genevieve peeled the layers of her bed back and climbed in to sleep. The boards in the hall creaked as someone walked past. A loud crash sounded, followed by a Gaelic curse.

Kenna.

Genevieve rushed out of her bed in her nightdress, not bothering to cover herself in a robe. She opened the heavy door and stepped out into the cold and dark hall. 

"Kenna?" She whispered. 

"God's mercy, I think I've broken m' foot." Kenna shouted loudly back at Genevieve from the floor where she clutched her foot.

Genevieve tiptoed quickly to Kenna, pushing the hair that escaped her braid behind her ears. Even from where she stood Genevieve could smell the ale wafting off Kenna. She peeled back Kenna's hand to examine her foot. Kenna cursed loudly as Genevieve prodded her foot.

"Shhhhh-" Genevieve stiffened and looked over her shoulders nervously to see if Robert or any of the boarders had heard. 

"From what I can see Kenna, it's not broken. You will just have a bad bruise in the morning. How did this happen?" Genevieve struggled with Kenna's weight as she helped her rise from the ground, holding one arm around Kenna's waist. 

"Nobody has fixed that fucking board," Kenna moaned and pointed angrily at the multitude of boards that covered the floor.

Genevieve lifted her brows and made a small noise of agreement. She could not see any risen boards nor find a fault in the floor. 

Stifling a laugh Genevieve led Kenna to her bedroom at the very end of the hall. She dug through Kenna's dress pockets looking for the small brass key that would unlock the door.

"Ooh lass- looking for something special eh? No I must tell you I'm not fully into that kind of action," Kenna's orange head lolled back against Genevieve's shoulder as she laughed.

"Lord, Kenna- honestly?" Genevieve dropped Kenna on her small bed and moved to undo her shoes.

Once Kenna had settled and the ale seemed to have less of an affect on her, Genevieve sat next to her. 

"May I ask a favor of you, Kenna?" Genevieve's gray eyes focused on Kenna's face. Studying her ruddy cheeks and freckled nose. 

"Now that depends," Kenna's eyes started to droop, a tell tale threat of incoming sleep. Before Kenna could succumb to her nap, Genevieve started to propose her plan. A plan that would hopefully result in helpful information for Major Tallmadge. 

Authors Note:

Sorry this chapter is so late, and so short! I am a terrible person, blah blah I know. Very sorry about this. But, I was accepted into college! It's a Christmas Miracle lol. Thanks for reading and hopefully another chapter will be up soon.

**Author's Note:**

> COPYRIGHT 2017: TURN: Washington's Spies characters and plot line belong to the author and producers. OC characters and their plot lines belong to myself. I am new to this site (find me on Wattpad @ _Drusilla_ ) and eager to read as much as I can. I would love to hear your thoughts on this book as well as the TV Series TURN: Washington's Spies. This book is also published on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad under the username @_Drusillia_


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